A Kindred Spirit -- the novel

Looking for the REAL AKS??

2011-11-23T19:17:00.006-07:00

Sorry, it never occurred to me that people were clicking on these old TEST blogs...

Here's the REAL DEAL: Blog for A Kindred Spirit

My personal Crypto-Cranium Blog

I am on Facebook as Jamelle Morgan aka 1ZenWoman

and the book, AKS, has it's own Facebook page.

Finally, help support the 20 Year Anniversary Edition of Beyond the GodForce
buy it on Amazon for only $2.99, and LIKE it on Facebook, please!

Say something if you were HERE. I didn't realize people were going HERE!

the Bella Vita

2011-07-06T23:11:00.002-06:00

I really don't like going to the casinos these days. But, here I am being serenaded by local mariachis for my (mumble under breath) birthday. I'm at Route 66, one of our local indian casinos, with my long-time Romero friends. Sophie, seen in the second pic below, absolutely loves the buffet and still enjoys her slots. So, I go. This was actually Sunday, July 3rd, not my actual birthday, and I would have preferred to stay home in the A/C and watched the closing arguments in the Anthony trial. Sigh, it's true, I was so caught up in that drama. Devoted a month of afternoons to live testimony on HLN.

Why? Who knows. As I posted on Fbook, others watch fictional TV dramas, this was real life drama. A young mother who probably chloroformed her baby so she could enjoy the bella vita (beautiful life.) She got that tattoo a day or so after her child died (or was killed.) And, now it seems she will have that "beautiful life" she craved. A million dollar book deal, some say.

I spent years writing my novel. Casey will have a ghost writer. Okay, I too had a ghost writer ;) Mine was rather demanding. He wanted the story told. I did not get a million dollar book deal. I'm not even in the black. Maybe crime does pay.

AKS is a Global eBook Nominee!!

2011-06-09T14:08:00.002-06:00

This is the badge and I'm using it on the AKS site. more soon! go to AKSbook.com NOW!

Where's the BOOK?

2010-08-17T12:26:00.002-06:00

If you landed here, you followed some links and that's okay. This was a site I used during NaNoWriMo to post bits of the book. The Official Novel Site is AKSbook.com

There you will find a link to my current blog, forums to discuss Dickian and other aspects of the novel, and for now (August 2010) the Errata Sheet. Currently the FDO (For Dickheads Only) version is out. In a few weeks, the final edition will be available. thank you for your interest and please keep checking back to AKSbook.com

Status

2010-02-08T14:28:00.000-07:00

Does anyone ever check here? (during NaNoWriMo? Anytime?) This is my "book blog" -- the place where I have posted parts of my novel, the Puzzle that is A Kindred Spirit (aka, AKS!) This Spring (yes, Spring 2010) this blog will morph into my novel promotion place! I'm so excited!

Since the beginning I've thought of the story as a labyrinth. More recently, it's been a puzzle. I only get glimpses, then pieces. I know when they fit. I can struggle with ideas or words, but when it finally comes it feels like it just clicks into place. It sure has taken a looooooong time, but the pieces have finally come together!

It's interesting that Phil (PKD) wrote a book, didn't like it and years later wrote Valis as a replacement for "Radio Free Albemuth." Valis is the primary inspiration for my novel. Same with the Unteleported Man. He wrote a story in the 50's, then wrote a "part II" in 1964 and finally finished it in 1979 as Lies, Inc. So, maybe it's just destiny that it's taking me so long to figure this thing out.

2009 UPDATE: I did copyright AKS in 2008. (My certificate arrived 9 months later! Now writing is like safe sex -- I'm protected!) What's the big deal about all the 2's and 8's? Apophenia? So be it! Phil was the Apophenia Poster child (or maybe I am.) Totally lost and confused? Start here: AKS - the novel.

Chapter One - the Grand Alignment

2008-03-08T20:28:00.010-07:00

The world was supposed to end March 10, 1982 --
obviously it didn't.

"You can't go to LA -- don't be ridiculous. What makes you think the guy will give you an interview?" Frank stubbed out his unfiltered Camel in the over-flowing ashtray and leaned back in his ratty swivel desk chair. His stare was as harsh as his voice, and Niki knew he didn't really want an answer. She stood in front of his disgusting desk, arms folded across her chest, waiting for the last word. As if on cue he added, "The Courier won't pay for it."

Niki was ready for this. "I'll pay for it myself, then. I'm going Frank, even if I have to take vacation ." It was the first time the young reporter could ever remember looking down on her boss literally and figuratively. Despite his crusty appearance and nasty habits, Frank was a respected newspaperman and Niki's mentor. He's the one who discovered her "nose for news." How could he, of all people, not understand why she had to go after this story? Who cares if Los Angeles is two thousand miles from Ottumwa, Iowa. This shouldn’t be about money. Niki turned away, afraid she might cry. Then defiantly called back, over a blaze of wild, wavy auburn hair, "In fact, schedule my time off. It's less than a month away." Once outside the Editor's reeking office, she slumped against the wall, and exhaled loudly.

It's even worse out here, she thought as she coughed and choked her way through the haze and maze of heavy wooden desks in the open newsroom. What constituted reporters for the Courier were mostly chain smoking, middle-aged men with yellow-stained shirts and teeth. When she got to the spot designated as her "desk," she could hardly hear herself think. There was no partition to separate her from the clattering of old manual typewriter and teletype machine racket bouncing off the walls. Some loud mouth sports jock sat about a foot away yucking it up on the phone. She collapsed into own creaky desk chair and stared at the calendar she had taped to the wall.

Two dates on the 1982 "Year-at-a-Glance" wall calendar were circled in heavy red ink -- February 3, which would have been her mother's 60th birthday, and March 10, the day the world was supposed to end. The events were inextricably linked, at least in Niki’s mind.

Niki had never been to L.A. but that wouldn't stop her from making this pilgrimage. From the moment she learned 36-year old astrophysicist John Gribbin would make his first U.S. appearance, she knew she had to cover the event. The respected scientific author was "crossing the pond" (as the Brits say) to speak at the Los Angeles Griffith Observatory, promoting his latest book and scientific theory "The Jupiter Effect."

Gribbin was Niki's idol,and had been since she'd "discovered" him in college. He didn't write dry science -- far from it. He delved into time travel, paranormal paradoxes and metaphysical mysteries, the stuff she and her mom used to stay up late at night discussing. Now, he was coming to the U.S. on her mom’s birthday – definitely an omen.

Niki sat day dreaming in front of her typewriter, still flushed-faced and agitated over her run-in with Frank. She had to find a way to get to Gribbin and interview him. More than ever she wanted to be the one to introduce her brainiac to the public and prove to Frank, and the world, that she too could explain the inexplicable.

The Jupiter Effect

was Dr. Gribbin's latest theory that on March 10, 1982, a rare planetary configuration could trigger a series of geological events that might spawn massive tidal waves and a devastating earthquake in California. Gribbin never claimed the California coast could or would slip into the ocean, but his ominous link between the intense gravitational pull of the planetary alignment and increasing strain on the San Andreas Fault was enough to create controversy. With the dreaded event just weeks away, Californians were getting nervous.

Niki was getting nervous, too. Once word got out that Gribbin would be lecturing on the planetary alignment, TV reporters and doomsayers would hype his hypothesis to the extreme. Latter-day lunatics would go wild. It would become an end-time epidemic! Niki wasn't sure if the End was truly at hand, but felt her fate hinged on interviewing Gribbin and turning the cosmic collision into national headlines. Could she really pull it off?

The Jupiter Effect was just the kind of event that draws the public to a planetarium. But, astronomers at the L.A. observatory felt the young, English scholar was "a sleek and gaudy paperback talespinner" -- a direct quote from the Griffith Observer magazine. Unbeknownst to Niki, the Griffith gang was actually trying to suppress news of Gribbin's appearance there. And they, of course, had no idea that in Ottumwa, Iowa, a young reporter would foil their plans.

Suddenly a spark of genius. She could write a promotional piece and incorporate the apocalyptic angle! Her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she could get exclusive rights to the story and meet Gribbin when he landed. The Jupiter Effect was going to be headline news, and when it was, it would carry Niki Perceval's by-line. The end of the world was her ticket out of this god-forsaken rat hole.

Niki stopped typing and stared off into space. Maybe she should start with an analogy about the Persian stargazers and how throughout the centuries, eclipses and planetary configurations had always been harbingers of doom. More importantly, she needed to explain that even though planetary alignments are not that unusual, it's only once every 2000 years that the sun comes into alignment with a new constellation. And on March 10, 1982, the world would see both: a transition to the age of Aquarius, and a rare planetary configuration -- truly making this a Grand Alignment. She yanked the paper with the cornball phrases from her typewriter and started over.

"Those who search for signs will find them…"

*****

Want more? Sorry, you'll have to wait until it's PUBLISHED! A Kindred Spirit is officially copyrighted and will be published in Spring of 2010!!
Finally, Phil is mine! (evil laughter)

A Kindred Spirit (my novel)

2007-03-09T20:28:00.004-07:00

This is the actual novel -- as much as I'm willing to preview. There are 8228, a highly portentous "phildickian" number of words in the first three entries, and over 88 thousand words as I work on revisions. It's going to be published finally, 2010!

The Prologue

Chapter One - the Grand Alignment

Chapter Two - End Times (removed pending publication)

Sometimes I call it AKS, Redux (or AKS III, or maybe 4 N final!) I've been at it so long it's sort of become a sequel to itself now or recursive fiction. But, knowing Phil wrote like this helps. (see Status entry.) The novel has entered its own time warp! 2007 is an important year since it's the 25th anniversary of Phil's death, or rebirth as I think of it. 2010 Phil would have been 82, so that is the definite Final Frontier for us!

The entire proposed novel layout is on my main website. A click will magically take you to it. The purple listings (on the layout page) mean they're "done." Since I really do want to publish AKS, I don't want to post more here. Perhaps I'll use this link to entice someone like Patrick Lobrutto to take another look. It's totally different than the weak version I let him review years ago. But even in it's embryonic state back then, he loved the concept. It's vastly improved, Pat!!

If you read this, PLEASE comment. That's why it's out here. I need feedback! (not junk mail or spam. I delete those.) The blog is enabled now so anyone can post comments. THANKS!

Prologue

2006-08-13T08:02:00.007-06:00

"Suppose a man died with the dearest wish of his heart unfulfilled.
Do you believe that his spirit might have the power to return to Earth and complete the interrupted work?"

Jerome K. Jerome "Ghost Story"

November 17, 1971 - Santa Venetia, California

It was an ordinary ranch-style house on a typical, quiet Californian cul-de-sac; a perfect moonless, starry night… until the explosion. Even that was muffled and neighbors would later claim they didn’t hear a thing. If they had been watching, they would have seen the firestorm roll through the front room and crack the big picture window.

A few hours later a 1960 Pontiac convertible rumbled around the corner onto Hacienda Way, the couple inside giggling like teenagers. The girl driving was only eighteen, but the man pawing at her was old enough to be her father. He was also a semi-famous sci-fi author, but that meant nothing to her. She had other reasons to be interested in Phil.

"Stop it," she pushed him away, "You smell like greasy burger and onions. You know that stuff will give you bad dreams."

"Not tonight, baby," he whispered, then sensuously flicked his tongue on her neck as Stephanie parked the car on the street. "It's perfect," Phil breathed heavily into her ear, swaying to Carole King's light and breezy voice on the radio. "Let’s do it right here."

"Nooo," she whined, tossing the keys to him. Then, teasing, "Let’s go in and do it on the floor."

Phil’s girlfriend-of-the-moment hopped out of the car and pulled him from the passenger seat. He nuzzled Stephanie's neck and playfully tugged at the buttons on her blouse as they staggered up the walk-way to the front door. Phil had never actually "done it" with her, but liked the idea. Since his last divorce, Phil hadn't technically been dating anyone. Stephanie was one of several young druggies he let crash at his house. He actually bought dope from her.

In the Bay Area, in 1971, everyone was buying and selling dope. Phil didn't care that much about hash or coke, but was a considerable consumer of white cross tabs. His need for speed was also a way to keep Stephanie around, and keep an eye on her. Phil fancied himself her savior. The truth was Stephanie was the one taking care of Phil. Someone had to.

Phil was prone to terrible bouts of depression and paranoia. He was also agoraphobic, and needed someone to drive him to the grocery store or burger joint. But, on this starry, starry night, Phil was happy for a change and focused on the possibility of making it with this young dark-haired girl.

"Vincent," he whispered in Stephanie's ear while fumbling with the key to unlock the front door.

"Man, you are stoned," she stopped and frowned. "Are you a homo?"

Phil smiled, "It's a song. Fabulous." He sighed, "Brand new album. Wait til you hear..." He pushed the door open with his hip and was about to give another push toward Stephanie, but she moved to flip on the light switch. Before he could finish his thought, she shrieked, "Jesus! Phil, look!"

For a moment, Phil couldn’t comprehend the devastation. "What the…?!"

A million tiny pieces of white debris covered everything – the carpet, furniture, the drapes and it was even sticking to the walls. As his eyes darted toward the adjoining den, his writing room, where chunks of metal were strewn among the bits of white. Phil pushed past Stephanie, who was frozen in place, to his study and saw the mangled remains of his fire-proof file cabinet.

"Shit," he cursed aloud, rubbing his eyes and temples. "Damn, I knew it!"

He could see pieces of wet towel among the debris. The force of the explosion had blown slivers of steel into the side of his oak desk. Bits of canceled checks, and other unrecognizable paper and plastic particles swirled together into a sickening stew of debris that used to be his only safe haven.

Although Phil allowed friends to come and go, smoke pot and generally make a mess of his house, no one was allowed in the writing room. It was strictly off limits and he kept it neat and tidy. It was the only way he could organize his thoughts and have any privacy to work on his novels. Now, his mind was as cluttered and confused as the mess around him. But, he knew one thing for sure – his latest and most important manuscript was gone.

Stephanie found Phil in the study, surrounded by debris, just standing there staring blankly.

"Thank God I’m not crazy." he said aloud and then erupted into a crazy, maniacal laugh that scared her.

"I’m calling the cops," the girl said, looking around for the phone.

Phil grabbed her forcefully; "No you’re not." The wild look in his eyes scared her. "No fucking cops, you hear?"

She began to cry and shake.

"You need to go home tonight. I’ll deal with this." Phil practically shoved her out the door and then felt bad. It wasn’t like him to be mean, especially to a crying woman. But, he was about to cry himself and he didn’t want anyone to see that. He collapsed in a heap on the living room floor, and curled up right in the middle of the mess. "Damn," he sputtered aloud. "I knew the sons of bitches were after me."

For hours Phil sat on the floor, rocking back and forth and playing over in his mind theory after theory of who would go to such extremes to steal his writing. It was a carefully crafted, professionally executed explosion. They knew to use heavy wet bath towels to muffle the sound and contain the contents. "The bastards," he thought, hoping they got a soggy wet manuscript and that maybe one of them blew a hand off in the process. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, still curled up in a half-sitting, half fetal position.

In the light of day, the scene was even more disturbing. It hadn't been a dream. The mess was real. Stiff and foggy, Phil got up and stumbled to the phone, which was in the other room and still intact. He found the number of a guy he knew -- a demolitions expert who had served in the Special Forces. Carl knew all about explosives, as well as code-talking and wire tapping. Once he got Carl on the line, Phil identified himself and mumbled something cryptic. He got the point across; in less than hour there was a knock on the door.

Phil cautiously peaked through the peephole. The guy standing there was definitely not one of the hippies that liked to hang around Phil's place. It was a six-foot-five, two hundred and forty-pound square-jawed muscle-bound dude still sporting a marine-style buzz hair cut.

--------- what happens next? Gotta get the book ;) Coming Spring 2010

Who U Callin' a Cheetah?

2004-11-16T01:07:00.002-07:00

I'm a filthy Cheetah! Apparently, one of several this year in the 2004 NaNoWriMo. I made my official confession in the NaNoWriMo's Filthy Cheater's Club forum. In good faith, just as an AA member might, I bared my soul, only to be attacked; well to feel attacked, I should say. I can't know another person's intent. I entered my I-ching calm, zen-like response.

I was also questioned by someone in the NM NaNoWriMo group, who noticed I'm card-carrying member of the 14th Club (late arrival, see below.) Here's that reply: In poker we call it a bluff (these old forums are gone... sorry, you cannot read the actual remarks.)

BTW, I have a draft of the 3874 I wrote Nov 16. I doubt that I'll "publish" any more of my AKS novel here, but I may link from my website. Back to cheating...

the 14th Club

2004-11-15T14:11:00.000-07:00

I don't know if the others will agree with me, but I've dubbed a group of us NaNoWriMo's who joined or started over on Nov 14, 2004, as the 14th Club. The link goes to that part of the forum.

I've got a complex linking, blogging thing going now. I have TWO blogs. My old Zenara Blog, where I'll track and ramble on about status, has my Progress Meter and blog ring of other Xanga NaNoWriMo blogggers.

I'll link to both blogs on my real website: ZiaLink.org

I haven't decided yet where I'll actually create the new WORDS. Here or there? the blog is easier, but I'm worried about protecting it (ha!) I should be so lucky that it will need protecting!

Let's go... the clock is ticking away. 16 days to write 25,200 NEW words. yikes...